


like god was gonna catch you by the ponytail

by blackwood (transjon)



Series: XXmin sprint fics [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Car Trips, Crushes, F/F, Pre-Relationship, idk theyre just vibin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23950687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: On the passenger seat Basira leans towards her bodily, the scent of vanilla and coffee hitting her nose in a fresh wave. The sun rises gently behind her, and when they get on the motorway and Daisy no longer has to watch for red lights she steals a glance at her, illuminated from behind by the red-orange sun. Dark curls. Dark eyelashes. Daisy watches them move as she shifts, the bounce of her curls on her shoulders, the movement of air around her body.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Series: XXmin sprint fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731235
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	like god was gonna catch you by the ponytail

**Author's Note:**

> title is from there will be no divorce by the mountain goats
> 
> Part 2 Of My 25 Min Ficlets , ill probs make a series page for these idk yet. we shall see

“The Archers, huh,” Basira says.

Daisy glances at her. It smells like coffee in the car. Coffee and Basira’s perfume, but mostly coffee. And – Basira’s coffee just smells like vanilla, really. In the cup holder Daisy’s coffee cup steams and smells like, well, coffee. She thinks about Basira pouring vanilla syrup into her coffee, teaspoon after teaspoon, and scoffs internally. All that sweetness. Coffee’s coffee. Why make it taste like something it’s not? She’s never understood it. Basira takes a sip of her coffee and smiles. Guess some people really do like it better, that way. Daisy still doesn’t understand. 

“Yes,” she says. “The Archers.”

Basira’s lips twitch slightly, like she wants to smile but thinks better of it at the last second. Daisy thinks about how she would snap at anyone else for it. It’s Basira. She doesn’t smile. Daisy doesn’t snap. 

Outside the city is just waking up – horns honking already, people waking up angry, getting in their cars angry, driving to work angry. Basira sits in the passenger seat and sips her coffee and pretends not to want to smile, and Daisy watches as the driver of a car spots them from the corner of their eye and thinks better of whatever it was that they were about to do. Daisy makes pointed eye contact, and turns on her blinker to turn left at the intersection. 

“Have you been listening?” she asks. The silence has stretched between them, and for a moment she wonders if the moment has passed already, but Basira startles, and then hurriedly goes “ah, no, can’t say I have.”

“Right,” Daisy says. “Do you want me to explain what’s been going on? I reckon this probably doesn’t make much sense to you.” In the background the drone of voices threatens to drown out the sounds of traffic. Daisy leans into it. This familiarity. This comfort. Safety in human sounds without the human contact, she thinks. Mindless entertainment. 

Basira looks away, then, neck twisting in a way that Daisy can’t imagine could possibly not be painful. “Ah,” she says, looking out the window, “sure.”

“It’s a long drive,” Daisy reminds her, “pick wisely, Hussain. I don’t stop once you get me going, you know?”

Basira looks at her, again, and Daisy has a brief flash of recognition. She’s blushing, although Daisy cannot imagine why. “Yeah,” Basira says, “why not?” 

Daisy grins. “Right, then. So –”

On the passenger seat Basira leans towards her bodily, the scent of vanilla and coffee hitting her nose in a fresh wave. The sun rises gently behind her, and when they get on the motorway and Daisy no longer has to watch for red lights she steals a glance at her, illuminated from behind by the red-orange sun. Dark curls. Dark eyelashes. Daisy watches them move as she shifts, the bounce of her curls on her shoulders, the movement of air around her body. 

Daisy takes her coffee from the cup holder, and Basira looks away. Daisy looks out at the road again. The sun continues to rise. These constants, she thinks, the familiar strangers on the radio; the sun still on its way to the sky, or the Earth still on its way to the right position, or the hours still on their way to the right time; the road open and long under the car, in front of them, behind them. 

And Basira, with her legs crossed, vanilla flavored over-sweetened coffee in her paper cup going cold, eyes fixed to her as she talks. Constants. Familiarity. Comfort. Everything familiar and alright for the moment. At the end of the drive there will be something terrible, and horrifying, and that, too, at that moment feels familiar. It’s fine, she thinks, it’s fine.


End file.
